


Usher

by watashi_no_akuma_to_notatakai



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, That is all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watashi_no_akuma_to_notatakai/pseuds/watashi_no_akuma_to_notatakai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt-fill: Confessions from a death-bed.</p><p>Canon-divergent b/c I needed an excuse to write this. I really don't know where it fits in the episodes so just pretend there is context in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Usher

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a novice writer and this is like my third Murphamy attempt so please forgive my shittyness. Also no beta so autocorrect is the wifey in this fic.

 

> _"Wild flowers crushed between your fingers. Clinging to the wild things that raised us."_
> 
> **_-_** _Zella Day 'Compass'_
> 
>  
> 
> * * *

Sunlight seeps through the canopy of leaves.

Branches stretch in every direction, spotting the thicket in an eerie dance. The bulky foliage serves to cover his volatile path as Murphy bounds through the forest. The usual silence of the wood is shattered with the harsh sound of splitting wood, and bullets hissing through the air.  
  
Murphy can barely breathe.  
  
He ambles over logs, boots barely clinging onto his feet as he trips himself up on every other tree-root. Air catches in his throat as another wave of pain surges through his leg. There is blood seeping from the wound and Murphy knows that if he doesn't suture it soon, he'll be dead before dawn decides to grace him with it's presence.

He's still sprinting, arms flailing, lungs continuing to spasm in his chest. Murphy's not sure if anyone is following him but at this point he doesn't care. He just needs to get away from the haze of blood and wailing that had filled his view only minutes ago.

There is blood everywhere; thick in the air, draining into the soil, dripping into his eyes from a pulsing gash in his forehead.  
The tainted images sweep across the back of his eyelids whenever he blinks, until he can't differentiate between hands or branches clawing at the edges of his jacket.

Murphy can still hear arrows darting through the air, background to a cacophony of violent shouts. He wants to stop because the strain in his lungs is battling for attention with the burn in his right thigh, but he keeps forging ahead.

_Just keep going._

Whether it's survival instinct or pure adrenaline, Murphy doesn't think, doesn't slow, just keeps on moving.

He slams directly into Bellamy.

"Shit!"

They topple over each other, grappling in the dirt as curses slew from each of thier mouths. Bellamy gains the upper hand over his assailant and rears his fist back, preparing to land a solid punch.

He halts midway.

"Murphy? Shit, it's you!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Murphy grunts as he pushes Bellamy's weight from him.

Bellamy winces as he tumbles to the side and presses his fist to a dark stain spreading through the rough fabric covering his abdomen. Murphy's eyes flash nervously to the wound.

"Fuck! How bad is it?" Murphy blurts harshly as he pushes himself shakily onto one knee with his elbows.

"It's fine, just a flesh wound," Bellamy grits.

A gun goes off, spraying bullets in the distance.

"We don't have time for this. Lets go." Bellamy coughs, wobbling as he gets to his feet, and they both redirect themselves away from the massacre.  
  
They don't speak, only the sound of their labored breathing and far-off screams breaking the silence. Murphy's arm rests under Bellamy's shoulder, practically dragging him along because at some point Bellamy's stuttered pace had become less than a slow crawl. Not that Murphy was progressing at a decent speed either. They both seemed to be collapsing into each other as they struggled to place one foot in front of the other. The fading light has them stumbling and desperate, almost bent at the waist on their arduous journey. Murphy can tell that this attempt at walking is futile, what with Bellamy's whines becoming more and more progressive, and the increasing shadows shading their sense of direction a dull black.

Murphy doesn't say anything but the neighbouring brunette seems to have read his mind.

"I can't keep going." Bellamy wheezes. He halts, preventing Murphy from treading forward.

Murphy furrows his brow in frustration.

"Yes you can! We have to get back to camp, we can't stay out here at night or they'll hunt us down."

Murphy tightens his grip on Bellamy's side and virtually hauls Bellamy the next few steps.

"Murphy, I'm done!" Bellamy gasps as he stops again, this time disentangling himself from Murphy's near-embrace, and slumping against the foot of a tree.

Murphy's heart races as he senses the dusk creeping up on them. There is no way they are going to make it back before nightfall.

The prospect scares Murphy, and like most things that scare Murphy, it had the beginnings of anger trickling into his bones. Dropping down in front of Bellamy, loading most of his weight onto his left knee, Murphy roughly tears Bellamy's hands away from their place shielding his wound.

Murphy wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't this.

Murphy could probably point out Bellamy's kidney from the fist sized fucking _hole_  adjacent to his left hip. He recoils his hand as if burned.

"Shit. Shit. Shit..." Murphy murmurs, eyes flashing from Bellamy's face to the wound and back again. Bellamy smirks, or attempts to. He mostly looks like he's sporting a permanent wince.

Murphy takes a deep breath, trying to clear the fog of disarray from his mind. Murphy sharpens his posture as he clenches his jaw and sets about covering Bellamy's wound.

The babble of cicadas fills the night air and Murphy manages to tighten strips of cloth around both of their injuries before the darkness becomes all-encompassing. Bellamy is barely a few feet from Murphy but neither can recite the defining features of the others face.

Murphy strives to distract them from the somber atmosphere and speaks,

"As soon as first light rears it's head I'll run out to camp and bring back Clarke...she can help you."

Murphy can't see it on his face but can hear the sarcastic grin in Bellamy's voice.

"Don't be stupid Murphy. We both know I'll be dead by then,"

Raspy, deep-bellied croaks resonate throughout the trees, a stones-throw away from them. Murphy's head snaps in the direction of the offending noise and it takes both teens more than a few seconds to settle their breathing.

"You should go. You can make it back in less than an hour." Bellamy continues, words softer than the fur pelt of the first rabbit Murphy had killed.

Murphy contemplates the taller boys words, knowing that he probably could just leave. No one would question it, if he came back alone.

He couldn't figure out why he decided to make this the moment he resolved to stop being selfish. Maybe he didn't have as persuasive of a survival instinct as he once thought.

"I'm not going anywhere. Move over, it's freezing."

Murphy jostles Bellamy forward as gently as he can without succumbing to the fear of breaking him. They end up with Murphy leant back against the stump, Bellamy's head resting on a bundle of cloth laid inside his lap.

The silence is deafening, not even the night-time sounds of the forest permeating the somber mood.

 

 

 

 

 

They stay like that for a while, pensive of the gloom that threatens to swallow them whole.

Bellamy's next exhale is joined with a shudder.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything...You're a decent guy, it's just- the things that happened here have changed us, y'know?"

Bellamy rambles, breaths coming in stutters. Murphy doesn't respond, slightly startled at hearing the bare, undiluted honesty in the others words.

Bellamy continues,

"My sister- god, _Octavia_. I was always there to protect her, until she didn't need it anymore. And you know what? I think...I think I needed her more than she needed me...She's strong. She'll make it out here..."

Murphy interjects, because as nice as it is to talk to Bellamy without the cover of sarcasm and defensive airs, this is not the way he wants to see him.

This is _not_ the way Murphy wants to see him.

"Save your shitty sentiments for your sister. You can tell her all about it when we get back, I'm not your therapist Bellamy."

Bellamy chokes back a laugh that transitions into a muffled cough.

Murphy leans down and presses the flat of his palm against the bound gash. He didn't expect it to have soaked through already, but it has. He snatches his hand back, wiping the sticky, offensive substance onto his own shirt and then placing his hands on either side of Bellamy's face.

"You need to leave, they'll find you, the grounders will find you...Leave me. I've had this coming for a long time, I killed so many...I deserve this, to die alone in the dark, you should go Murphy, please-"

Murphy's consciousness had all but burned-out, muscles aching, breathing haggard and an irritated twitch forming below his throbbing brow. Yet Murphy had never felt more sure in his life, that this was where he needed to be, where he had always been fated to end up.

"You're not alone, you stupid prick! I'm right here! And I'm not leaving so you'll just have to deal with it for a little while longer." Murphy fumed.

"But-"

Before Bellamy could continue his self-depreciating, death-throe rant, murphy acted on impulse, veering forward and crashing his lips against Bellamy's, cutting his protest off at the quick.

The action is messy, and if not for Bellamy taking control of it soon after inception, it would have been the most chaotic attack on personal space Murphy had ever witnessed.

Bellamy's lips parted roughly as Murphy's tongue darted out to savor the soft texture of Bellamy's mouth. He tasted the tangy rust of blood, and he wasn't sure whose of theirs it was, but the silky heat of Bellamy's mouth distracted him from questioning it. Bellamy's hand, the one not occupied with covering his wound, reached up to play at the nape of Murphy's hair. The longer-haired brunette gasped and stroked the others tongue in his mouth with his own. Bellamy nips at the other lips before Murphy pulls back, leaving them both breathing heavily from something other than pain and exhaustion.

"Mur-"

Murphy broke in once again.

"They'll come looking for us, we just need to hold out until sunrise."

Bellamy pulls his lips into a soft smile. He didn't attempt to speak again.

They kissed intermittently throughout the night, Murphy always initiating, trying to force Bellamy to stay awake. Whenever Bellamy seemed to slip away, Murphy would pepper his face with chaste kisses, across his chin, his cheekbones, his eyelids.

He had heard from Clarke that you should never let someone with an unrecognizable injury fall asleep, and he didn't intend to. He wasn't one for heeding Clarke's advice but this was one of the few times he would have staked his life on it.

Murphy spends the night skimming the woods at edge of his vision, eyeing any area that emitted a questionable noise. To distract them both, more himself than Bellamy, he tells stories of his mishap adventures on the ark.

Murphy speaks to Bellamy of days that he's never told anyone about, not because they were too personal, but because he doubted anyone would find the resolution to listen.

Bellamy listened.

There was the month that Murphy's relationship with his mother had gotten so bad, he had chosen to give portions of his water to the community tree. He had been young, and naïve enough to think that watering the plant would make his mother forgive him, love him even.

He grew out of it.

There was also a happier time, when Murphy had befriended one of the maintenance men's sons, and they had spent nights sneaking around beneath the vents and piping of the ship.

"Pretending to be space pirates."

Murphy reluctantly admits.

Murphy doesn't let him speak, so Bellamy listens.

He was limber with fatigue, and running on fumes, but every time Bellamy responds to his periodic kisses, the buoyancy of hope keeps him going.

 

 

 

 

 

The pale cyan light filters through the tree-tops and instantly accelerates the clip of Murphy's heartbeat as it permeates the receding twilight.

Murphy presses his lips against Bellamy's in a frenzy of desperation and belts out a sharp laugh of relief when Bellamy heartily responds.

With the impending luminous sunrise, Murphy can see the brazen grin on Bellamy's face clearly. He's paler than he remembers Bellamy ever being, and he can see specks of blood on his teeth, but Murphy takes none of it into consideration as he revels in the fact that the asshole is still alive.

"Morning sunshine." Murphy beams, a smirk fixed on his face.

His right leg is numb and he's not sure if it's still operating as a functioning limb but nothing can put a damper on his mood now.

"Murphy...I have a confession to make..."

Bellamy smiles tenderly, staring unswervingly at Murphy.

"Yeah?" Murphy returns his smile, too appeased to try and fake resistance.

He can see specks of tawny amber in the edges of Bellamy's irises as the soft dawn reflects off of them. He'd never noticed how deep the brown of Bellamy's eyes seemed; they were layer upon layer of walnut, honey, russet, brandy, topaz.

Murphy's only ever seen most of those things in old textbooks on the days he bothered to go to school on the Ark.

Now it's as if he's seeing them all in person for the first time.

Bellamy releases a soft exhale, face relaxing. Murphy leans in to hear him speak.

 

Murphy waits a few seconds, and then a few minutes, chest constricting slightly, like he's wearing a vest eight sizes too small.

Bellamy lays still.

Murphy is almost as still as the boy below him, staring at his face, pupils blown and dilated, waiting for movement.

"Bell? ...Bellamy?"

He speaks gingerly, as if afraid to wake Bellamy, which Murphy realizes is ridiculous because Bellamy's eyes are still wide open.

Murphy shakes him, all reservations of being gentle with his wound gone out the window.

"Bellamy!"

Murphy heaves in air, afraid he is going to suffocate. He doesn't remember crying but something is streaking down his cheekbones and splashing onto the face frozen below him.

The forest is more frigid and empty than it was before.

The innate commotion of the woods becomes overwhelmingly petrifying and Murphy can feel his muscles seizing. Gasping again, lips pulled back like a wolf baring it's teeth as his jaw clamps together, Murphy tries to contain his sobs.

Bellamy's face is devoid of emotion, and Murphy wrenches his gaze from it.

_This can't be happening. I just got him. We kissed. This can't be happening._

Eyes flit around the proximity like a frightened animal, systematically drawing back to Bellamy's face every few seconds.

Murphy wants to close them, the eyelids that would hide the vivid hue of life that used to be Bellamy's eyes, but that would be admitting that Bellamy was dead.

Murphy has never felt more cheated in his entire life.

He can hear loud, rickety breaths and knows they are escaping his own mouth but can't find it in him to keep quiet. The wound in his head stings like a shock of electricity.

He cards his hands through Bellamy's hair, not expecting it to be just as soft as it was the night before.

But it is.

Murphy stays there far past the breaking of dawn, not granting the prospect of leaving a single second.  
  
Murphy hears a branch snap and his head is too heavy to snap up as it would have done hours ago. He slowly drags his eyes towards the movement within his range of sight.

He catches sight of a silhuoette and irrationality slips back in.

_Maybe they can still help him. Maybe Clarke can save him!_

"Help!...Someone help us! Help!"

Murphy's throat is dry and hoarse with lack of hydration and the overcompensation of tears.

The shadow steps into the light, directly across from where Murphy leans broken against a tree.

It's a grounder, that much Murphy can see, and there is an arrow trained precisely at him.

The whole forest seems to go quiet, uncannily calm.

Murphy glances down, feeling numb, endeavouring to memorize the planes of Bellamy's face.

The grounder pulls back the arrow notched in his bow, the flex of the taut string echoing in the quiet.

Murphy's fingers ghost across the dead boy's lips, taken aback to find them still slightly warm to the touch.

 _This is my last chance to steal a kiss_. He thinks.

Murphy never found out what Bellamy was going to say to him, but he was no fool; he had an idea.

Or at least he hoped he did.

Either way, none of that mattered now.

Murphy drifts down, hair falling in his eyes and obscuring his line of vision, lips slowly branching open.

The arrow is ushered from the bow.

It takes flight, and just before Murphy's his lips make contact with the flush of Bellamy's mouth, the arrow embeds itself inside the skull of it's target.

**Author's Note:**

> idk about you but I think upside down kisses are so fucking cute. Also you may be thinking that the title means something deep like to usher in death or something; it could mean that. Or it could be a reference to pop artist Usher's song Confessions. Guess we'll never know...


End file.
